


Heads. We're Dancing.

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Community: the_serpent_den, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-09
Updated: 2006-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-08 09:23:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You were never the type to go to these parties. You wonder why you even let your Muggle friends talk you into this..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heads. We're Dancing.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Potterverse is JKR's, not mine. Written for fun, not profit. Inspired by the Kate Bush song of the same name.  
> A/N: Originally written for the prompt 'secret' at the LJ community the_serpent_den.   
> Warnings: Second person narrative, AU-ish, and a not-so-happy ending.

You were never the type to go to these parties. You wonder why you even let your Muggle friends talk you into this.

"You're sixteen," they said. "It's the school holidays. Go on, Hermione, live a little!"

So while you stand there, bored out of your skull, you really hope that _this_ isn't considered living.

All around you, girls are giggling, boys are showing off, and everyone seems to be drinking a lot more than they ought to.

They'll regret it in the morning. Of that, you are quite certain.

You shake your head, and venture out onto the balcony for some fresh air.

You'd give anything to be back home, curled up with a good book.

But you know you can't leave yet. Well, you suppose you could, but then your friends (though are they, really?) would only nag you more.

You let out a deep sigh.

"Well, hello there," a voice behind you says cheerfully. "Had to escape the insanity, too, did you? Good Lord, it's like a zoo in there!"

You turn around in surprise, and are greeted by the most dazzling smile you've ever seen, and eyes of the greenest green that almost take your breath away.

You smile back at the young man now standing in front of you.

"I'm Tom," he says, and holds out his hand.

"Hermione."

You shake hands, and you begin to chat.

It's nice and comfortable, and it becomes increasingly more fun as the evening progresses.

Honestly, you hadn't expected anyone here to be this charming or witty or come to think of it, quite as handsome, either.

"Are you sure you don't want to dance?" he asks with a grin. His question almost sounds like a challenge.

"Um..."

You hesitate. Not because you don't want to dance, but because you rather like being out here, alone with him.

"How about we let fate decide?" he suggests, and produces a coin from his pocket.

You think you don't see Muggle money much these days, and you wonder how he would feel about dating a witch. Not that you're getting ahead of yourself, or anything.

"Heads. We're dancing," he says, and he tosses the coin.

Heads, it is.

And so you dance, and talk, and dance some more.

And so you find yourself falling, little by little, more and more, for this boy you've only just met.

By the time the clock strikes midnight, you're head over heels.

And before you know it, it's two in the morning.

"My goodness," you remark. "I really shouldn't have stayed out this late."

"Your parents will be angry?" he asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

"No. They're in Italy," you say. "A two weeks' holiday."

"Would you like me to walk you home?" he offers.

You're well aware that the sensible you would have declined politely and called a taxi instead.

But the fact of the matter is that you're smitten, too smitten to say goodbye. (Please, not just yet.)

And besides, you can trust him. (You think.)

"That would be lovely, Tom."

And so he takes your hand, and he walks you home.

All the way there, you continue to chat, and his intelligence keeps impressing you.

You assume he reads almost as much as you do.

"Here we are," you say, when you reach your parents' house.

"Goodnight, Hermione," he says softly and smiles that gorgeous smile again.

Very briefly, you hesitate. Then you lean up, and you kiss him. "Goodnight, Tom."

For a moment, he looks surprised, but then he doesn't, and he gives you a rather smug grin.

"I'll be in touch," he says.

"Well, you know where I live." You grin back.

He walks away, you close the door behind you, and you're lightheaded and happy.

You don't get much sleep that night. You're high on adrenaline, and on Tom.

The following morning, you're grinning from ear to ear when you make your toast, and you're humming when you give a treat to the Owl that's just delivered you your _Daily Prophet. _

The bird flies off happily, and you glance at the front page.

"VOLDEMORT RETURNS," it screams at you in impossibly large print.

Your breath hitches. Your happiness shatters. Your world falls apart.

But it's not the headline that grabs your attention, nor is it the article itself that makes your stomach churn.

No, the thing that gives you the chills the very minute you lay eyes on it, is the picture of the Dark Lord when he was a young man; just seventeen, apparently, at the time that photograph was taken.

You read the name underneath it and your blood runs cold.

_Tom Riddle. _

The same Tom you danced with last night, the first boy you ever had romantic feelings for.

You drop the paper, you scream, and you never want to fall in love again.


End file.
